


Death's Desire

by GravenLament



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Non-Canon Relationship, Rape/Non-con Elements, Top Severus Snape, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-04 08:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14589255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GravenLament/pseuds/GravenLament
Summary: Harry is manipulated into making a profound personal sacrifice after the Order's master spy is unmasked. The fallout of this event changes the lives of two wizards forever, and alters the course of the coming war.





	1. Morte Desiderium

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you'll enjoy this story. I have no beta reader at present, so some errors may still exist though I have proof read my work several times. Feel free to let me know about any mistakes I've missed. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the world or characters of the HP universe and am not making any money from this story.

**Chapter One:** **Morte desiderium**

 

 

Trapped in a room with a man who had just been liberally doused with a bastardized lust potion was not a situation in which Harry Potter had ever wanted to find himself. But he was. And he was going to kill Draco Malfoy once he escaped. If he escaped. Harry wasn't sure it was possible to be buggered to death, but judging by the look in Severus Snape's burning black eyes, the man was willing to give it a go.

 

Everything had been going well up until ten minutes ago. Defense class had been good, even with Snape glaring at him through the entire period. Harry hadn't risen to his teacher's usual sarcastic taunts, he hadn't lost his temper or earned himself a detention, and when Snape had given the class back their tests from last week Harry was pleased to see he had earned himself an Outstanding. It had been the best Defense Against the Dark Arts class he'd attended all year. Until ten minutes ago. Malfoy's lifespan was shrinking by the minute.

 

The strap on Harry's book bag broke just as he was shouldering it and readying himself to vacate the room after Snape dismissed the class, so he hunkered down and set about fixing it as well as he could to get him through the day. He would do a proper job of it once he got back to his dorm after dinner. He thought he was alone with his Professor until he heard Malfoy speak; and in such a tone! He had never, in the five and a half years he'd been at school with the ferret, heard his rival speak to or about the Head of Slytherin with anything other than complete respect. Now was a far different story.

 

“The Dark Lord sends his regards, traitor!” the blonde snarled, spitting the word traitor with as much contempt as he could muster.

 

Still crouched over his bag, Harry's eyes widened in shock. That couldn't be Malfoy. Malfoy worshiped Snape just like the rest of the snakes. Snape was the one teacher at Hogwarts Malfoy had never insulted. What the hell was going on?

 

“Draco, what...” Snape began, only to be rudely cut off.

 

“Don't try the innocent act, Severus. He knows. We all know now. What on earth was Dumbledore thinking to allow such a weak pitiful thief like Mundungus Fletcher in his precious Order anyway?” the boy sneered.

 

Harry stood and spun around to watch the drama unfold at the front of the room. Snape's cover had been blown. That much was obvious. It sounded as though Fletcher had run afoul of the Death Eaters and spilled his guts.

 

“Draco,” Snape began again, trying to placate his student. “You do not understand.”

 

“It doesn't matter what I understand. The Dark Lord understands perfectly, and sent you a gift.” Draco withdrew a small glass sphere from his robes and launched it at his former mentor. It broke at the dark man's feet and he was quickly engulfed in an eddying swirl of pink fumes. “Something new. Something special just for you, Sir. Death's Desire.” Malfoy mocked. “You didn't really think you were our Lord's only Potions Master, did you?”

 

Snape squeezed his eyes shut as soon as the blonde had launched the potion filled ball. Actually, in his hubris, Severus had thought he was Voldemort's only Potions Master. He had never heard of Death's Desire, but its scent reminded him of the properties of Amortentia. As a seasoned Potions Master he was able to detect the true scent of the ingredients behind the illusory fragrances it suggested to the common wizard. Yes, it was faint, but all the elements were there, plus something extra. Something new, as Draco had so happily informed him. Something special just for him.

 

“Malfoy what have you done?” Harry shouted, finally breaking himself from the stupor he had found himself in from the unexpected situation.

 

Both Slytherin's heads turned in his direction and almost against his will, Severus' eyes snapped open, locking onto the form of the shocked young Gryffindor at the back of the room.

 

“Excellent!” the blonde laughed, smirking. “Two with one stone! My Lord will be pleased.” The young Slytherin's eyes capered with manic glee as he shot out the door, slamming it in his wake. A moment later Harry heard the crackle and hum of wards slamming into place.

 

“No...” Snape moaned, collapsing into his chair, never breaking his gaze from the lithe seeker across the room. Already the first stirrings of intense desire were beginning to creep into his body.

 

“Sir,” Harry began making his way to his teacher's side, worry stamped clear on his brow. “Are you alright?” He reached the man and lay a tentative hand on his teacher's broad shoulder.

 

“Potter.” Severus hissed. Harry had heard the man speak his name in many tones over the years, each more filled with loathing than the last. This though... this was different. Harry couldn't define it, he only knew it sent a strange shiver down his spine. “It just had to be you, didn't it?” Snape murmured.

 

“What? I didn't do anything, Sir. Malfoy...” Harry was stopped from speaking when Snape's hands shot out and tangled in the front of his robes, dragging him forward to stand between his teacher's knees. Harry yelped in surprise.

 

“Just had to bloody well be you.” Snape growled as he ripped open the Gryffindor's robes, sending buttons flying. Slim fingered hands snaked inside and settled possessively on the young man's waist before jerking the shirt from where it was neatly tucked into Harry's trousers. “It's always you. Always.”

 

“Professor! What are you doing? Stop it!” Harry shouted, trying to bat the man's hands away. Severus snarled and backhanded him.

 

Harry reeled back at the blow and fell into a tangled heap on the floor, gazing up at Snape with wide eyes in complete shock. Fear lanced through him when the older man's lips curled into a feral smile. Severus stood and stalked towards the prostrate student. Harry scuttled back like a crab, trying to escape. He wasn't fast enough. Snape was on him in seconds. Bending down, once more grasping Harry's robes, trying to haul the younger wizard to him. Harry panicked and did the only thing he could think of. Harry kicked his Professor square in the bollocks and then scrambled to his feet and put as many desks between himself and the mad man as he could.

 

Harry reached inside his shirt and grasped the Order medallion Dumbledore gave him in case of emergencies. _ Help! Help! Oh, please help! Defense classroom! Help!  _ Harry chanted in his mind concentrating with all his might, never taking his eyes off his teacher writhing on the floor with his potion stained hands grasping his groin. Snape in turn did not take his eyes off the panicked student.

 

“You... little... shit!” the man gasped, pain coursing through his body. As a hunted outcast student, Death Eater, and finally spy he had suffered countless injuries, but had never been kicked there. Addled though his mind was by the potion, he was still coherent enough to know that particular pain he never wanted to encounter again. He somehow managed to let go his injured organ long enough to dig through his robe pocket for a pain potion and swiftly swallowed it. The predatory smile returned and he staggered to his feet.

 

Harry drew his wand and crouched ready to spring into battle. Snape was wild with whatever potion had been contained in Malfoy's sphere, and Harry, though never the best in Potions class, was bright enough to know it was some form of lust potion that had ensnared his teacher. He knew he couldn't out-duel the Potions Master, and couldn't keep out of his grasp indefinitely, but he wouldn't be taken without a fight. His only hope was that Dumbledore would arrive before anything too drastic occurred.

 

“Harry,” Severus purred, licking his lips as he drew his own wand, “Oh, Harry. You may play hard to get, but I will have you, my little prize.” Eyes like volcanic glass gleamed in the afternoon sun streaming through the classroom's windows. He began to circle around the desks separating him from his quarry. Harry moved in tandem, doing his best to keep the man at a distance.

 

“Professor, you really don't want to do this.” Harry pleaded, voice choked with fear. “You loathe me, remember? You'll really regret this once that potion's worn off.” Severus' only reply was a low throaty chuckle. Harry brandished his wand and tried to fire a disarming hex. Countering it was mere child's play to the more experienced wizard. Before he knew what happened, Harry's wand was wrenched from his hand and Snape held it up like a trophy before winking and tossing it over his shoulder.

 

“You are foolish to resist. I will have you, Harry.”

 

“I'd really rather you didn't.”

 

Severus laughed and banished the remaining desks between them with a casual flick. Even though it was locked and warded Harry tried to make a break for the door. Snape had him before he had taken five steps.

 

“Harry.” the man's hot breath wafted over his face as Harry was slammed into the wall and pinned. For one disjointed moment Harry marveled that Snape's breath smelled of fresh mint before the pain of impact flared in his back. “Submit, my prize. Make it easier on yourself. Submit and I'll give you pleasure like you've never imagined in your most fevered adolescent fantasies.” Snape's low seductive voice caused Harry to feel a tingle of arousal and the boy blushed. Tears came to his eyes and he felt awash in shame.

 

“Please stop it.” the young Gryffindor mewled, pushing back against the larger man's chest. Snape pressed harder against him so that both bodies were melded firmly together. Harry could feel the man's erection grind against his stomach and gasped.

 

Long fingers grasped his face and the Potions Master's thin lips crashed against the younger wizard's in a heated and aggressive kiss. Sharp teeth nipped and bit the young man's mouth sharply until he cried out, and when he did the older man took the opportunity to thrust his sinuous tongue inside. Harry felt as though he was being devoured whole. He struggled weakly, overcome with fear. Against his will, Harry's body betrayed him, and he felt his cock twitch and harden. Severus groaned and rocked his pelvis against his unwilling paramour. When Harry stopped struggling and slumped in Snape's grip, the older man finally ended the vicious kiss.

 

“So sweet, Harry. So delectable.” Again the man purred and Harry shuddered. Snape was not attractive, but his voice... oh his voice was beyond sinful. It dripped with sexual promise and Harry's youthful libido couldn't help but respond. “You taste even better than I imagined.” Severus lunged and began biting Harry's throat leaving angry red marks.

 

“Please stop? Please?” The plea came out a bare whimper and caused Severus to chuckle and rock his hips against the young man once more.

 

“I've only just started.” the older man whispered in Harry's ear, eliciting a shiver and a sob.

 

Severus loosened and removed Harry's school tie and then ripped open the boy's shirt as he had the robes only minutes before. Graceful fingers ghosted over smooth young flesh. Severus moaned in appreciation. Harry was an athlete and his body reflected that admirably, and it was late enough in the year that he was no longer painfully thin. He was not rippling with muscles, but well toned nonetheless. When Severus went for Harry's belt, the young man's paralysis broke and he began to fight back once more.

 

“No!” The cry was raw with anger and shame.

 

“Yes!” Snape snarled and backhanded Harry again. This time the young man's lip split and his glasses were knocked away.

 

“Unhand him!” A blur of tawny hair and shabby robes cannoned into the Potions Master knocking the man off his feet. Harry crumpled to the floor weeping. He drew his knees to his chest and hid his burning face. Somewhere a little distance away he heard the sounds of fists meeting flesh and many voices babbling over one another.

 

“Get off me, Wolf! He's mine!” Snape roared.

 

“You sick bastard! How could you!” Again the unmistakable sound of punches being landed. Harry wanted to be sick. He could hear others in the room but refused to look up to verify who was present.

 

“Moony.” Harry sobbed. He was so shaken up, and terribly frightened, but it wasn't really Snape's fault. He couldn't let the beating continue. “Moony, it's not his fault. There was a potion. Malfoy did it. Moony stop!” Harry begged, hating that his voice sounded so vulnerable.

 

“Enough! Stupefy!” Dumbledore. Ever the voice of reason. “You may get off him now, Remus. He won't be getting up any time soon.”

 

“Harry,” the boy heard the soft Scottish burr and knew his Head of House had arrived. He looked up into McGonagall's usually stern face and was surprised at the amount of concern he saw there.

 

“Professor.” he whispered.

 

“Come on and get up now, Harry. Let's get you to the infirmary.” she said, pressing his wand into his hand. He allowed himself to be helped to his feet but couldn't help flinching when the witch wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “It will be alright, Harry. I promise.” she murmured. He wanted to agree with her, but he couldn't. He had a feeling things would only get worse.

 

Harry loathed the infirmary since his first visit back when we was eleven. However it is only now that he finally understands why that is. The antiseptic scent, the obsessively clean atmosphere, the association with pain and illness... was too much like Privet Drive. The Boy-Who-Lived sat on his usual bed and pondered his discovery in a daze as the teachers and Order members twittered around Snape's bed at the other end of the infirmary. The potion Malfoy doused the Professor in must have been even worse than Harry thought, for Madam Pomfrey hadn't so much as offered him a single healing draught or waved her wand over him in a diagnostic charm, and she was usually rabid about such things. Harry hummed under his breath and went back to contemplating his rather sterile environment.

 

“Kinglsey took a sample to Horace, hopefully we'll hear something soon.”

 

“I'm surprised the Ministry didn't insist.”

 

“Obviously some sort of lust potion.”

 

“I've never seen the man so out of control!”

 

“Perhaps we should move him to a private room?”

 

“Will there be an inquest?”

 

“The Aurors are looking for young Mr. Malfoy, but so far nothing has been found. His dorm room has been cleared out.”

 

“Shouldn't a general purgatory potion do the trick?”

 

“The report will only state that a teacher was slipped a malefic potion against their will.”

 

“Doubt it'll come to that.”

 

The many overlapping conversations ebbed and flowed around the forlorn boy as he sat on his bed. He tried not to focus on anything said. No one seemed to care he was there. Perhaps he could return to his dorm now? No. Just because Madam Pomfrey hadn't noticed him when he came in didn't mean she would take kindly to him slipping away while still injured. Harry lay down and curled up on his side, deciding a nap was the best course of action he could take at the moment.

 

Harry awoke with a jolt to someone shaking his shoulder. The infirmary was now dark and deserted, and Harry shivered, wondering what had happened while he was asleep. His face and back were quite sore. Pomfrey hadn't healed him. It was strange that she would have overlooked him. It had never happened before.

 

“Harry, my boy. Sit up please. I need to discuss some things with you.” Dumbledore spoke softly, his voice, barely above a whisper, sounded tired.

 

“Sir?” Harry asked, sitting up. Dumbledore was a pale blue blur in the moonlit room. Briefly the Gryffindor wondered what had become of his glasses after Snape knocked them from his face.

 

“Harry, I need your help rather badly. Professor Snape is in quite a bit of danger due to that potion young Malfoy dosed him with this afternoon.” The Headmaster's voice was grave as he took Harry's hands.

 

“In danger? But... shouldn't the potion have worked its way out of his system by now? I thought it was like a hyped-up version of Amortentia.”

 

“If it were Amortentia, it could be countered, or allowed to diminish, we aren't so fortunate in this instance. From Professor Slughorn's analysis, this potion, which he has never seen before, cannot be countered, nor will it naturally flush from its victim's system after a set amount of time. It binds to the blood and will eventually kill any who fall under its spell.”

 

“You mean Snape is going to die?” Harry exclaimed. He didn't particularly like the man, but had never wished for his demise.

 

“Professor Snape, Harry... and yes, unless certain conditions are met, Severus will soon die.” Dumbledore squeezed his hands once and then released them. “Harry, Severus is very important to the school and the Order. We need him, and also... Harry, he is like a son to me. I love him dearly and would not see him meet such an ignoble end. I need your help. You are the only one who can help Severus now.”

 

“Professor... you know I'm next to useless at Potions, and I know even less about healing.” Harry looked at the blurry old man in confusion.

 

“No, Harry, potions and healing cannot help him now. As I said, there is no counter-agent that will cure him. Judging by the circumstances in which we found you this afternoon, it is clear you were the first person he gazed upon after being exposed to the potion, correct?”

 

“Yes, Sir. He closed his eyes when Malfoy threw it at him, and then opened them and looked at me when I shouted at Malfoy.” Harry nodded, thinking back, remembering the exact sequence of events.

 

“It is likely that Voldemort thought Severus would look at Draco, and thus all hope of avoiding death from the potion would be lost when the young man fled the castle. That you were there and intervened when you did has given Severus a chance. Do you understand that, Harry? You are the key to his survival, my boy. His only chance to live.”

 

Harry leaned back and twisted his hands in his lap, thinking about his Potions Professor, his behavior that afternoon, and what little he knew of love and lust potions. An ugly, niggling little idea was forming at the back of his mind that settled dread like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. Harry pushed it away.

 

“Sir... how exactly am I the key?”

 

“Harry, there isn't a delicate way to explain this, but I will try. Harry, in order to save Severus' life, you must give yourself to him. Do you understand?” The man sounded miserable and embarrassed. Harry knew the feeling as he was experiencing it as well.

 

“You mean I have to let him... that I must...” Harry tried to speak, but he couldn't coherently articulate what he was feeling. He was sure he must be beet red.

 

“I know it must sound quite shocking to you, but, Harry, if you do not do this, he will die, and soon. Time is running out.” The Headmaster was beginning to sound desperate.

 

“But, Sir! I'm... I mean I've not... I haven't ever!” And he hadn't. Not with anyone. He had only been kissed that one time by Cho. And Snape was very much a man too. Shouldn't that be taken into consideration. The kiss he'd shared with Cho hadn't done anything for him, but that didn't necessarily mean he fancied boys. Did it? Did it even matter which gender he fancied if someone's life was on the line?

 

“My boy, this may not be an ideal way to divest yourself of your virginity, but please do consider the fact that Severus will surely die if you do not. Harry, surely you see that your virginity is rather inconsequential in comparison to a human life!” Dumbledore's voice rose steadily through his tirade and became infused with anger. Harry recoiled from the man as if struck. The headmaster had never so much as raised his voice to the young Gryffindor before. Harry felt very low in that moment.

 

Inconsequential? Yes. Harry was inconsequential. Everything about him was inconsequential except for his use as a weapon. He accepted that after hearing the prophesy last Spring. Without Sirius, Dumbledore was the last person left who ever seemed proud of him. Lupin ran hot and cold. Sometimes he was there, and sometimes he drifted away or disappeared from Harry's life entirely. He didn't want to disappoint the Headmaster, no matter what the cost. Harry nodded and lowered his head. Dumbledore said he loved Snape as a son, that he was important. Harry would do what was necessary because even if the old man didn't really care for him in return, Harry still thought of him as a grandfather; the only one he would ever have.

 

Harry followed the Headmaster to the infirmary's isolation suite without further protest. Snape was bound to the bed with magical restraints that both kept him in place and relatively docile. The man was drenched with perspiration, his breath ragged, and without his voluminous teaching robes his arousal was very much evident. When he turned his head and saw Harry standing in the doorway his face lit up in, what was for him, a brilliant smile.

 

“Harry.” Snape purred his name and his obsidian eyes pinned the young man to the spot. It seemed impossible to Harry, but the Potions Master looked even more ardent than he'd been that afternoon. The man was the personification of heat. Harry swallowed thickly before looking away from the man and instead at his elderly mentor.

 

“You know what you must do, my boy. Just remember most young men are delighted to lose their virginity as soon as possible. It's a trivial thing to give up for a man's life. This is for the best now, Harry. You will be fine, I'm sure.”

 

The Headmaster didn't even look at him. His gaze stayed riveted on the potion addled man on the bed. Then the old man pointed his wand in Harry's direction and fired off three quick spells that left the boy reeling. First a wave of nausea hit him as a cramping sensation bent him double, then he felt strangely empty. The next beam of light touched and stretched him so intimately Harry cried out in shock. Finally he felt a cool slickness fill his bottom. Harry gaped at Dumbledore, shocked that his Headmaster knew such spells, much less would use them on a student.

 

“Sir?” Harry croaked.

 

“That should make it a tad bit easier on you, Harry. Good luck.” Still the man didn't look at him. With a final wave of his wand Snape's restraints fell away and then he was gone. The door sealed shut behind him, leaving Harry alone and adrift in a situation he wasn't prepared to face.

 

Snape sat up and stared at Harry with such intense hunger the youth trembled, feeling more than seeing the expression on the man's face. Still, Harry had promised in a round about way to see this through, and he wouldn't go back on his word. He walked slowly to the bed, stood just outside his teacher's reach, and removed his robe before tossing it on the nearby visitor's chair, then waited, staring steadily at the floor.


	2. Ad Depellendam Innocéntiam

**Chapter Two: Ad Depellendam Innocéntiam**

 

 

Severus woke to red hot pokers stabbing his face, trying to skewer his eyes right through the lids. He wasn't accustomed to waking to morning light, and most certainly didn't appreciate it when it felt like he had the worst hangover of his life. Even worse than the one he'd suffered through on November second of eighty-one, and that one had been a real corker. He didn't know what he'd been drinking but his mouth tasted like a herd of hippogriffs had used it for a litter box. It was not shaping up to be a good day. His mind felt sluggish. The sun was slapping him in the face. He was sore from head to toe. Merlin, even his hair hurt.

 

Snape cracked a tortured eye open, shielding it from the malicious light with a very unsteady hand. Definitely not his dungeon bedroom. His blessedly dark dungeon bedroom. Where the bloody blazes was he then? He racked his brain for several long moments before it came to him. The infirmary. The isolation suite to be exact. Wonderful. He would almost have preferred the awkwardness of waking up with a strange muggle after an ill-advised night out at a pub. It was moments such as these that reminded him why he had pledged to himself to indulge as infrequently as possible.

 

Now if he could only remember why he was in the infirmary in the first place. He didn't feel the after effects of the Cruciaticus, so he doubted he had been to a Death Eater assembly. In fact, taking his clues from his aching body, it seemed a wild night out was a much better explanation. He reeked of stale sweat and sex, and he was almost positive he had a bruised pelvis. He was getting too old for this sort of sordid behavior, especially if he was passing out where Poppy could sink her claws into him and drag him to the infirmary. He only hoped no students had seen him so thoroughly inebriated.

 

Sitting up, Severus realized he was completely nude beneath the heavily starched sheets and scratchy blanket. For a moment he was mortified, hoping he hadn't wandered the halls of the castle naked, then he began to take inventory of the room. Several articles of clothing littered the floor, many of them torn, and at least half of them didn't belong to him. He gingerly stood from the bed and picked up the nearest garment, a severely torn pair of charcoal gray wool trousers, much too small for Severus to even attempt to wear. They looked like... Severus dropped them in horrified shock when he recognized what they were. Standard Hogwarts uniform trousers from Madam Malkin's.

 

The man groaned and staggered back to bed where he stopped and stared at the sheets. Blood... and crusted semen. Not a lot, but enough for Severus to know precisely what it was and how it probably got there. The small trousers now painted a very disturbing picture for Severus, one that made him sick with self-loathing. He had taken a student in that bed. Likely a virgin student, and judging by the size of the trousers he'd found, a young virgin at that. Severus sank into the chair by the bed and cradled his head in his hands, images of a swift trial and a long stay in Azkaban rushing through his mind, and wondering about the identity and current location of his young... victim.

 

What had he done? Gone out, gotten blind stinking drunk, and then come back to Hogwarts? Grabbed some student out exploring illicitly after curfew? Dragged them here, to the infirmary of all places, and then buggered them senseless instead of deducting points and issuing the usual detention? The few clues Snape had to go on pointed to just that, or something like it, yet it didn't _feel_ quite right to him. He was missing something important. Something he would better be able to grasp were it not for the incessant headache pounding at his temples. It made thinking clearly and using his occlumency skills to recover hazy memories impossible.

 

Pop! A house elf appeared in the room and squeaked when it saw his state of undress. It turned a strange shade of purple – who knew house elves blushed like that – and did its best to look anywhere but his direction. It quickly tossed the bundle it was carrying on the bed and disappeared without once having spoken. Severus looked at the bundle and was unsurprised to note it consisted of a set of his clothing and one of his few casual robes. His small leather traveling potions case was there as well, sitting on top of the bundle along with an envelope.

 

“Ten galleons says that letter is from Albus.” he grumbled to himself as he reached for the potions case. He'd be able to think far more clearly once he'd had a headache draught. The Head of Slytherin tossed back the bitter potion with a grimace then opened the letter, wondering if it were an official notification of his termination. Albus would surely know what he had done, or he wouldn't have sent the elf to him here in the first place.

 

_Severus,_

 

_Please take whatever potions you require, clean yourself up, and take the rest of the day to rest and recuperate. After yesterday's fiasco I daresay you need it. We are still searching for young Draco, and are confident the Aurors and Order members will be able to track the boy without your assistance. Due to the nature of the potion involved, Kingsley assures me we will be able to handle the affair in a most subtle and confidential manner. Tomorrow being Sunday I would appreciate it if you would be willing to join me in my office for a private breakfast at eight. Feel free to take your meals in your quarters today. Professor Sinistra will be keeping an eye your students so you needn't worry about being disturbed._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Albus_

 

Severus dropped the letter and flopped on the bed, disregarding the stained sheets, trying to reconcile the information in the letter with his earlier suppositions. It was obvious from the tone of Albus' missive that he wasn't being sacked, and therefor wasn't being held accountable for whatever had happened, even though Aurors and the Order were involved. It seemed the events were being hushed up.

 

They were looking for Draco. A potion was involved. He could only conclude he himself had been the victim of whatever potion had been used. Albus wrote as if he expected Severus to know exactly what had transpired, yet he remembered nothing. Judging by the evidence in the room, a lust or love potion was the likely agent of whatever had occurred, yet with standard potions of that kind memory loss wasn't a typical side effect. The only explanation was that whatever he had been dosed with wasn't a standard potion with which he was familiar. How did Draco tie into it all?

 

Was his truant godson the one he had... used while under the influence? Had he run away after the traumatic experience of being raped by his godfather? Severus looked at the ruined garments scattered about the floor. No. Draco was slender, but not that petite. He was much taller than whomever had worn the clothing. He saw no student robes, and no House tie, but the boxer shorts he spied across the room were cotton, and Draco, a Malfoy to the core, would only possess silk. That could only mean that Draco had been the one to administer the potion, but why? In some strange misguided attempt to seduce Severus which had gone awry? Doubtful. Draco was not one to seek the company of men for pleasure. The young Slytherin lothario pursued witches by the score, but never dallied with wizards. His tastes and exploits were well known in Slytherin. An accident, perhaps? No. Draco was a consummate Slytherin. He planned too meticulously for an accident of this magnitude to have occurred.

 

Draco administered the potion with a purpose. To what end? Snape focused and turned his thoughts inward seeking answers. After a great deal of coaxing, from a hazy maelstrom coalesced an image. Draco, sneering at him, snarling. Calling Severus a traitor. Removing something from his robes. Then... but no more would come. Nothing clear anyway. The scent of sandalwood and rain and fresh mown grass and burning leaves and anise. A flash of anger and desperation tinged with irony, and then a delirious wave of desire rolling through him, burning him, sweeping away all thought or concern. Severus came out of the semi-trance state he had induced and stroked one potion stained finger over the Dark Mark blemishing his pale forearm. One thing was certain, Severus Snape's days were numbered.

 

Still pondering what little he could so far glean from his nascent memories of the previous day, Severus eased his aching body under the hot pounding stream of the shower in the bath attached to the isolation suite. The special laurel oil infused Castile soap Poppy kept stocked for the infirmary lathered richly in his hands, and he allowed himself the small tactile pleasure of smoothing the creamy soap over his much abused skin.

 

Now that he was more alert and his mind was clearing from the fugue left by whatever damned potion he'd been given, he was distressed to note the presence of many scratches, crescent shaped cuts, and small finger sized bruises on his arms and torso. He was sure, thanks to the stinging sensation he felt when washing his back, that there were more of the same on his dorsal side. Whomever Severus bedded hadn't submitted meekly. He knew himself to be a forceful lover – not that he'd had any complaints, mind you – when he had time for such frivolous activities, and wondered if his young partner still retained their fighting spirit after such a night. Merlin... a virgin subjected to a rampant Snape drugged to the gills with a powerful aphrodisiac. Severus shuddered.

 

“I'm sorry,” the man whispered, turning off the water and leaning his head against the cool ceramic tiles. “Whoever you are, I'm sorry.” He couldn't get the picture of those small ripped school trousers out of his mind. Severus shuddered again as his mind was assaulted with the image of his hands ripping open a Gryffindor school robe and small pale hands trying to bat them away.

 

Groaning he pushed away from the wall and rubbed his temples before snagging his towel and exiting the shower. He'd buggered a bloody Gryffindor. It would be all over the school by now despite Dumbledore's attempts to keep the unfortunate episode quiet. Gryffindors could never hold their tongues. Parents would be at the gates demanding his blood by tea time. He would be branded a pedophile and count himself lucky to find work as an apothecary’s assistant in Knockturn Alley. And it wasn't his fault. Severus had made so many mistakes in his life, but this one most emphatically wasn't his fault. He would never willingly touch a student in that way. Never. He growled as he scoured his skin dry with rough strokes.

 

Severus was relieved to find the room clean and silently thanked Merlin for Hogwarts' diligent elves. He felt guilty enough about what had happened without having to view the tangible evidence. His clothing and potions case awaited him at the foot of the freshly made bed, but all the soiled and ruined garments had been spirited away. He took a mild general healing potion to treat the scratches and bruises, then dressed in his usual swift yet precise manner. Without his usual waistcoat, frock coat, and cravat, he was done in record time. Wearing only shirt, trousers, and the simple casual robe he felt under-dressed, but as the Headmaster had effectively given him the day off he supposed what he wore would suffice. After all, he was only going to his quarters.

 

Severus paused at the door, unable to tear his gaze away from the partial hand print emblazoned on the frame in a dull rusty shade. The dark man squeezed his eyes shut and mentally reaffirmed his innocence before violently twisting the knob and jerking open the door, intent on reaching his domain and the dusty bottle of liqueur that sat waiting in an otherwise unused cupboard. With his father as his caution, at seventeen Severus made a solemn vow to never allow himself to emulate Tobias Snape, but the burn would be a welcome and soothing balm. Just one to take the edge off and fortify himself against whatever backlash his involuntary actions might bring.

 

All thoughts of self-medication fled him as he took in the sight of the mediwitch seated on the bed across from the isolation suite's door with red rimmed eyes, the twisted remains of a horribly familiar pair of spectacles cradled in her hands.

 

“Poppy?” The witch looked up and offered him a half-hearted smile that didn't meet her eyes before waving her wand in the usual configuration for a diagnostic spell. She slipped the wand into an apron pocket and nodded.

 

“The potion has cleared your system and you appear to be no worse for wear, Severus. Just a bit dehydrated is all. Make sure you drink plenty of water and juice for the next few days and you should be perfectly fine. Avoid alcohol and food with excessive salt.” she rattled off by rote before looking back at the glasses. “I've tried repairing them, but they've been broken too many times for the spell to take. Cheap muggle rubbish. The magical quota of the materials is simply too low.”

 

His hand flying at full strength to connect with a panicked young face. Frightened green eyes. Glasses flying. Blood. The impact as someone tackled him from the side. Shouting voices. Severus was rocked by the fragmented memories and staggered back a step as he became fully aware of his victim's identity. His heart seemed to clench and Severus wheezed.

 

“Severus?” Poppy was at his side instantaneously.

 

“Just... just remembered _who_.” his voice came out strangled and thin. “Albus will kill me.”

 

“You don't have to worry about that, Severus.” Poppy gave an inelegant snort as she pressed a vial of calming potion into his trembling hand. “I take it you remember very little. Come into my office. I'll call for tea and tell you what I can.” Severus downed the potion and followed the matron, eager for answers.

 

“I can't believe he would do this.” An hour had lapsed and Snape sat clutching a cup of tepid tea as he stared aghast at the nurse.

 

“Severus, when Albus has an agenda there is little he wouldn't do to achieve his aims. I heard what he said to the boy. He loves you as a son and couldn't allow you to die when a simple solution was within his grasp.”

 

“But to do such a thing...”

 

“In exchange for your life, Albus would see one boy's innocence as a paltry sum to pay.”

 

“Not just his innocence. There was blood, Poppy. I ravaged the little idiot like a mindless beast!” Severus snarled. He might not like the Potter brat, but that didn't mean he approved of Albus' dubious course of action. After all, his position as spy was compromised, thus his value diminished. A broken savior would be far more difficult to replace. “Where is Potter anyway?”

 

“I haven't a clue, Severus. He was gone before the wards on my office door expired this morning.” Poppy sighed. “When I was able to finally leave my office and check, there was no sign of him. I tried contacting Albus as soon as I discovered Harry was missing, but he seems to be off grounds and it seems likely he's taken the boy with him.” The Matron paused and placed a gentle hand on the irascible man's forearm. “Severus, I don't know if the others were informed of Albus' actions. Considering how high emotions were riding yesterday, I think it would be prudent for you to do as the Headmaster suggested and stay in your quarters today.”


	3. Animae Sanguinem

The little cottage should have been cozy and welcoming, but Harry found it as cold and hollow as his heart. He was so empty. Mind, body, and spirit were host to an infinite void. His stare was vacant, and his mind couldn't seem to form any coherent thoughts. 

 

He had been alright this morning when he exited the isolation suite in the infirmary. The Potions Master dominated him, and used his young body thoroughly, but Snape didn't injure Harry. It had been as Snape promised him earlier in the Defense classroom. Harry experienced  pleasure unlike anything he had ever even considered in his fantasies. All he had to do was submit. Once he stopped fighting, the man ensured that they both enjoyed maximum pleasure during their encounter. The only discomfort came when the scab on his wounded lip broke open when he buried his face in the sheets as the older man pounded into him from behind. That stung a great deal, and bled a bit, but the sex itself felt marvelous. His clandestine wank sessions late at night were nothing compared to being fucked by Severus Snape.

 

It was an eye-opening experience, and one which settled the question of his sexuality in Harry's mind. He knew now he was most definitely gay. That didn't bother him. He knew his relatives wouldn't like it, especially his uncle, but just as with magic Harry cared little for their prejudiced opinions. He could deal with that. And Harry wasn't worried about his friends. Hermione was of an enlightened mindset and would accept him as he was without issue, and Ron's older brother Charlie was gay, so Harry doubted the boy would have a problem with his best friend sharing that particular characteristic. When the information eventually became public he didn't doubt that some people would react negatively, but Harry had been dealing with public disaproval for quite a while now. It was nothing new and he would get through it. 

 

No, nothing about the encounter with Snape caused his current state. He weathered the storm of the Potion Master's passion and emerged relatively unscathed. He was resolved to put the whole incident behind him, and hoped Snape would take the same stance once he awoke. Things would be even more awkward between them for a while, but if they both pretended nothing happened Harry was sure in time they could return to their usual level of mutual loathing.

 

Harry's current problem stemmed entirely from the Headmaster. The man was waiting for him outside the isolation suite, and immediately portkeyed them both away the moment Harry stepped through the door. The boy was illprepared for it. He had just spent the night having vigorous sex with his drugged professor, was dressed in only his half ruined school robe – the rest of his clothing was too damaged to even contemplate wearing – and stumbling about in the dim room resulted in him tripping and bloodying his nose, then tripping again as he left the room. He barely managed to catch himself on the door facing, or else he would have collided with the door itself. He was tired and a bit woozy, and definitely not in top form when he left the suite, and Dumbledore grabbing him and forcing a portkey in his hand didn't help matters any. The man brought him here, and after a brief conversation, Harry was left alone. 

 

“My boy, I have tried my best to spare you the stress of your mantle of responsibilites, but that time is at an end. You have become a man now, and it is time to put aside childish things and accept your destiny.” the old man said, face and voice a portrait of sorrow.

 

Harry blinked owlishly at his mentor, unable to comprehend what exactly Dumbledore meant. He was still reeling from last night's activities, his personal revelations, and the blasted portkey. 

 

“Sir?”

 

“I know you will not like what I must tell you, it would be devastating for anyone to hear, but I trust you now have the maturity to accept my decisions.” Dumbledore rested a calming hand on Harry's shoulder and guided the young man to a nearby sofa. Once they were seated he took a deep breath and continued. “I have told you of the prophecy, but now you must understand its complete interpretation. Harry, to permanently defeat Voldemort, you will have to die by his hand. Only then will Tom Riddle be vulnerable to complete destruction.” 

 

Harry closed his eyes and rocked back from the Headmaster as thought slapped. His mind raced as it began to connect what the man was telling him to what he already knew. Only his death would destroy Voldemort. He thought about the memories Dumbledore shared with him over the course of the year. He thought about an old man telling a young boy that he could speak Parseltongue because the Dark Lord transferred a bit of himself to the boy when he attempted to kill him as a babe. He thought of horcruxes.

 

“Are...” Harry began in a croaking voice. He cleared his throat and began again. “Are you saying I'm a horcrux?”

 

“I am sorry, my boy. I know it must be hard to hear, but it is true. You must die, and Voldemort himself must be the one to do it.” Dumbledore sighed and released Harry's shoulder. “You will have to walk to your death willingly, Harry, but not until the proper moment. The other horcruxes must be dealt with first. Knowing how difficult such a thing must undoubtedly be, I have spared you the knowlege as long as I could. I have endeavored to allow you some semblence of a happy childhood whilst preparing you for your fate. I have given you as much as I could, my boy. Freedom to enjoy your school years, Quidditch, friendships. Everything I could think of to make a boy happy, but we must prepare for the end now. You must be trained, and we must encourage your magic to mature and grow as quickly as possible.”

 

“How?” Harry's voice sounded distant to his own ears. As though it were coming from another room.

 

“Do not worry about that now. I must leave to attend to a few things, and when I return we will speak more. I will let you know the particulars. For now just rest, and if you become bored you may read any of the books here in the cottage. I recommend to familiarize yourself with the defense manuals especially.” the Headmaster gave him a small encouraging smile as he stood and moved toward the floo.

 

“What about school?” he tried to focus, but everything was too overwhelming. He was a horcrux. He had to die. 

 

“That no longer matters, my boy. You will be educated here now. You will be taught everything you need to know to destroy the other horcruxes, and battle Tom's followers until it is time to end it all. I will arrange everything.”

 

“My friends?” Harry turned his head to look at Dumbledore. He had to see the man's face.

 

“They understand. They knew it was only temporary. I'm sure they will miss you in their own way, but you haven't the time for distractions now.” the Headmaster's face was stern and his voice tight. It reminded Harry of the way he spoke to him in the infirmary. Was it just last night?

 

“They knew?” Harry tilted his head. He knew at any other time, under any other circumstances he would be livid, but just now he could not summon the energy.

 

“Yes. I selected them especially for you, Harry. To give you the support you needed, and help you on your path.” was the old man's curt reply. “But as I said, it is time to put aside childish things. Your childhood has ended. Voldemort discovering Severus's spying has curtailed your youth, and I am sorry for that, but we can waste no more time. Without his intel we must move to finish things as swiftly as possible. We have no other spies in the Inner Circle, and we cannot allow the Dark to gain the upper hand. You are a man now, and must shoulder a man's burdens. Alone.”

 

In a swirl of green flames the Headmaster was gone, leaving Harry to his thoughts. He was alone now. The weapon discarded until its time for usefulness come back around. No tears fell, but Harry felt the agony of betrayl to the depths of his soul. His friends had never been his friends. Only his minders. Everything in his life had been arranged to create a willing sacrifice. He felt something inside of him break, and wondered if it was his heart, or his sanity. 

 


	4. Cum Ceciderit Idola

Professor Snape was in a foul mood, robes snapping, and storm clouds gathering on his brow as he made his way through the castle to the Headmaster's office. He had spoken to no one but Poppy since he awoke in the infirmary the previous morning, and he was annoyed that Albus had not seen fit to keep him abreast of the situation in which he unfortunately found himself embroiled.

 

According to Poppy, who at least had the common courtesy to keep him updated, the search for his godson had proven fruitless, and Potter was still missing from the castle as well. While Albus willingly conversed with her about Draco, he was keeping absolutely mum about Potter, which boded ill as far as Severus was concerned.

 

So, without the proper intel, his mind had turned to morbid ideations regarding the boy. He feared his unwilling actions caused the brat grave injury. He was sworn to protect the little fool, and the concept that he may have permanently harmed Potter distressed him on a fundamental level. He might snipe at the boy on a daily basis, assign the occasional unfair detention, and fling the odd casual insult at the Gryffindor, but he would never cause him serious trauma of his own volition.

 

As much as he disliked the brat, he knew Potter didn't deserve what Albus had facilitated in his misguided attempt to save the Potions Master's life. He was only fifteen. Just a boy. That he had destroyed a child's innocence was perhaps one of the most reprehensible offenses that could be laid at his door. In short, Severus felt ashamed, and that emotion always made him react in anger.

 

Seeing the guardian gargoyle at the entrance of Dumbledore's domain, he allowed himself to hope at least some answers would be forthcoming. He knew only too well that Albus had a propensity for prevarication, but Severus felt that the Headmaster owed him after this last stunt.

 

After all, Albus seriously compromised the Potion Master's rigid moral code. It was an unconscionable offense, especially as Severus had adopted his personal code after the Headmaster took him under his wing at the end of the last war. The second chance he'd been given meant a great deal to Severus, and he vowed to make the most of it. Hence the code. Albus should have known better.

 

“Jelly Babies.” he ground out the undignified password and rode the magical staircase to the top where he was immediately granted admittance to his employer's office.

 

“Ah, Severus! So good of you to join me.” Albus Dumbledore called jovially from behind his desk, resplendent in robes of turquoise and saffron. “The elves have sent up the most fabulous Crêpes for our breakfast, my boy. It was all I could do to restrain myself until your arrival.” The old man smiled while he rounded his desk, and gestured to the small table set up by the window where the promised meal sat waiting.

 

Severus was struck dumb by the Headmaster's jolly demeanor, and could do nothing but allow himself to be led to the table. How the old man could even think of food at a time like this was beyond him. Albus behaved as if absolutely nothing was amiss. When Dumbledore pulled out his chair for him and urged him to sit Severus finally managed to rouse himself from his stupor.

 

“I am not hungry, Albus!” he snapped. “There is much that we need to discuss.”

 

Dumbledore merely chuckled and began to dish up food onto each of their plates. 

 

“How can you sit there laughing at a time like this?” Severus demanded, pounding a fist on the table with such force that it made the cutlery jump. 

 

“Now, Severus, that is hardly necessary. We will discuss everything, however we shall do so over our meal. You're always grouchy when you haven't eaten enough.” Albus chided him as though he were a recalcitrant child, “So sit down and eat your breakfast, please, and then we can talk about whatever you like.”

 

Severus grit his teeth and sat down. He was livid, but knew when Albus was in a mood like this he wouldn't listen to Severus unless he cooperated. He took up his fork at glared at the nauseating confection on his plate. He hated  Crêpes, and Albus knew it. He preferred something simple for breakfast. Tea, toast, bacon, and perhaps a poached egg if he was particularly hungry. At the moment he had no appetite. He forced himself to take a bite. His stomach roiled in protest, but he forced down his gorge, and continued to eat the cloying meal.

 

Dumbledore hummed in pleasure as he savored every bite, while Severus did his best to avoid retching. The younger wizard thought it would be easier to accomplish were it not for his mentor's oppressive cheerfulness. Albus seemed to not notice the Slytherin's simmering resentment, or perhaps was choosing to ignore it. Nothing would dampen Dumbledore's spirits that morning it would seem. When Albus finally finished his plate Severus pushed his aside as well, despite the fact that over half of his portion remained. 

 

“Now, Severus,” the old wizard began after patting his mouth with his napkin. “Draco is still at large, but we suspect his father has taken him to the continent. Lucius ordered an international portkey two weeks ago, spelled for travel the day before yesterday. The Portkey Authority said its destination was Avignon.”

 

“Lucius's cousin, Gaétan Malfoy, has an estate near Avignon, on the Rhône. If Lucius was hedging his bets, that would be a strategic fall back position. Draco would be safe from the Ministry if he succeeded, and from the Dark Lord if he failed. Gaétan owes Lucius a great deal of money. He would not give the boy over to either faction willingly.” 

 

“It is a quintessential Malfoy maneuver, then.” Albus nodded and sipped his tea. “I do not think word of the incident has leaked yet, so he will keep the boy sequestered until he is sure of the outcome. When it comes out that you are alive and well, Lucius will be placed in an untenable situation.”

 

“The Dark Lord will demand he deliver Draco to him for punishment. After Lucius's spectacular failure last year, I believe we both know the Malfoy family's days are numbered.” Severus sighed. Lucius was long since past the point of reformation, but he mourned Draco's fate despite the young man's actions against him. He did love his wayward godson, in his own way, and was sorry he wasn't able to guide him away from his father's chosen path.

 

“Sadly you are correct. Tom has never been the merciful type, but being a Malfoy I am sure Lucius has a few contingency plans in place. It would be foolish to count him out of the game as of yet.” 

 

“I agree.” Severus sat forward in his seat. “Now, about Potter.”

 

“What about Harry?” Albus looked genuinely perplexed.

 

“Why is he still missing from school? Should he not still be under Poppy's care?” Severus questioned, eyes studying the old man intently. The wizard's demeanor this morning set the Slytherin on edge.

 

“You needn't concern yourself about Harry, Severus.” Albus gave him a reassuring smile and set about pouring them both another cup of tea. “And he won't be returning to Hogwarts, I'm afraid. He has withdrawn from school. He will complete his education with special tutors.” 

 

“So, I injured him worse than I thought.” Severus whispered, and collapsed back in his chair.

 

“No, no! Not to worry, my boy.” Albus hastened to reassure his younger companion. “He is no worse for wear from your ordeal.”

 

Severus searched the Headmaster's face for any hint of a lie. When he found none he sighed in relief. It didn't eradicate his guilt entirely, but knowing the boy had no lingering injuries from their  _tryst_ did ease his conscience a bit. He should feel relieved the brat wasn't returning to school. Not having a living breathing reminder of his deeds strutting about should be comforting, however, Severus felt just the opposite. It worried him a great deal that the young Gryffindor wouldn't be back. Especially since Albus was being so cavalier about the whole thing. 

 

“Then why the devil is he withdrawing from Hogwarts?” Severus demanded.

 

Now it was Albus's turn to sigh. The old man removed his glasses, cleaned them with a conjured cloth, and then set them back on his nose before answering. The disquiet Severus felt grew more with each moment the Headmaster delayed.

 

“Now that your position as spy has been compromised, we will be operating completely in the dark when in comes to Tom's activities. It goes without saying this complicates matters exceedingly. We can no longer afford to treat Harry as a normal student.” Severus snorted at the very notion of Potter ever being treated as a normal student, but Albus ignored the Potions Master and continued. “Our time-table must be accelerated now. We need Harry to be capable of achieving his destiny much sooner that I had planned.”

 

“He is still only a boy, Albus!” 

 

“Children have fought wars before, Severus.” the old man reasoned. “And besides, in case you have forgotten, he _is_ a man now.” Dumbledore gave Severus a look laden with innuendo, causing the younger man to bristle with indignation.

 

“That's low, Headmaster.” the Slytherin growled. “And ridiculous. What transpired between Potter and I doesn't change the fact that he is still only sixteen, and a rather naive sixteen at that. A single sexual encounter will not cause him to miraculously mature over night.”

 

Albus sighed and rose from the table. He crossed to Fawkes' perch and scratched the gorgeous scarlet bird under its chin. The phoenix trilled one long mournful note in reply. Albus turned. His face was sorrowful, but his expression resolute.

 

“Perhaps not, but it does not change anything. Harry must be trained. He must be equipped to meet his fate. He cannot accomplish that here at Hogwarts. Learning to read tea leaves, transfiguring pincushions into hedgehogs, and studying nifflers will in no way prepare him for what is to come.”

 

“Albus-” Severus tried to interject but failed.

 

“No, Severus. I regret it must be accomplished in this way, but we have no other choice. I am arranging special tuition for him at a secure location. I am determined the next time he and Tom meet, Harry will be ready.” 

 

From the Headmaster's tone, Severus knew further argument would be futile. When Albus made up his mind no one could shift him from his path. 

 

“Very well, Headmaster.”

 

Albus smiled and returned to his side, clasping the younger man's shoulder. Pleased that he'd gotten his way.  _As always._

 

“I didn't say before, but I am so pleased you have recovered, my dear boy. So very pleased.” He took the professor in his arms and gave him a warm embrace. Severus fought to not shudder in revulsion. He was sickened by Dumbledore's attitude toward Harry, and by what he'd done to ensure Severus's survival at the boy's expense. “I don't know what I would have done had we lost you.”

 

Severus stepped out of the Headmaster's arms and nodded acceptance. It was the only thing he could do without screaming. Albus bestowed one of his practiced benevolent smiles.

 

“If that is all, Sir, I will take my leave.” Severus replied, tone carefully modulated. He wanted out of the office, and out of Albus's presence as soon as possible. He needed to think. Everything was so very wrong. Discarding Potter, and treating him as though he were indispensable. Everyone had gone mad in the past twenty-four hours, and if he wasn't careful his entire world was going to spin off its axis.

 

“Of course, my boy. Go ahead.” the old man retrieved his ever-present pouch of candies from a hidden pocket in his robes, and popped a yellow sweet in his mouth. “I'm sure you're just itching to get back to your experiments. I presume we will see you in the Great Hall for supper.”

 

“As you wish, Albus.” the Potions Master offered a curt bow and exited the office as quickly as was polite. His feet leading him toward the infirmary before he even consciously made the decision to take Poppy into his confidence. He needed counsel, and she would listen to him without censure. If anyone in the whole bloody school understood just how callous the Headmaster could be, it was the matron. She at least didn't view the man through rose-tinted glasses. 

 

The Slythein stalked up stairs and down halls at a ground eating pace. Something was terribly wrong. Severus wasn't sure exactly what it was, but his instincts were telling him it was so, and he never ignored his instincts. A spy did so at his peril, and they had saved his life more than once. Severus knew Harry Potter was important to the war effort. He was aware of the prophecy, – how could he not be – even if he didn't know it in its entirety. 

 

He knew the boy needed to be armed with more than tickling and disarming charms to defeat the Dark Lord, but removing him from school and isolating him from his friends was hardly the best way to train someone like Potter. Loath as he was to admit it, the boy needed a gentler approach. He'd told the Headmaster that last year when the Occlumency lessons went so horribly. Potter was sensitive to the point of being almost empathic. He told the man someone who could treat the boy with care was needed to ensure Harry learned the skill. Someone calmer and softer in nature. Severus was ill suited for the job, but Albus wouldn't listen. In fact he ordered Severus to be even more strict. Harsher. The man's attitude confused him then, and it was even more mind boggling now. 

 

When Snape reached the infirmary he took a deep breath before opening the doors and entering. It wouldn't do to take out his frustration on his only possible ally. He found the matron in her office organizing charts. At his appearance in her doorway she stopped working and gave him an inquiring look.

 

“Poppy, we need to talk.” 

 


	5. Ira, Velut Et Fluvius

The curse hit his left side and he felt something crack and give under the force of the spell. Harry hit the floor and tried to roll, and gain his feet as he'd been taught, but the way his ribs ground together caused him to halt his movement and curl into a protective ball. _Bloody Hell, what hit me, a troll?_

 

“Back on your feet, Potter.” Shacklebolt's voice was almost without inflection.

 

They had been practicing Auror level dueling drills for the past two hours, and Kingsley was a strict taskmaster. The first lesson he taught was to dodge and roll, and woe betide the student who didn't learn it well. Harry thought he started out pretty strong in their lessons today, however he didn't yet have a fully trained auror's endurance to draw upon. Quidditch training was proving to be nigh well useless when it came to dueling. _Oh well, what can you expect from a sport where you sit on your bum through every game?_

 

“I think my ribs are broken, Sir.” Harry managed to gasp.

 

“The Dark Lord won't care if you're injured, and neither do I.” Shacklebolt said, calm as though they were only discussing the weather. “Get up.”

 

Harry rolled onto his stomach and managed to gain his feet while cradling his ribs with his left hand. He swayed in place a moment, but thankfully didn't fall. Harry hoped today's training session would end soon. He was exhausted, and he knew he must look a right mess; Covered in cuts and bruises, and drenched in sweat as he was. Kingsley, on the other hand, wasn't even winded. The man's robes weren't even rumpled. What was the muggle phrase? Fresh as a daisy? That fit Kingsley to a “T”. He looked as though he hadn't cast anything more strenuous than a cooling charm all day.

 

“Now, Potter, what did you do wrong there?” the man demanded. It was odd hearing that sort of tone from him. He was usually the congenial type, with a ready smile and easy laugh. It was really starting to grate on Harry's nerves.

 

“I bloody well got hit, didn't I?” the cheeky response was out of his mouth before he could govern himself.

 

Shacklebolt's wand was in motion before Harry finished speaking, unleashing a spell that sent the young wizard careening arse over teakettle into the wall behind him. Another rib might have snapped at that point. Harry hurt so much all over that it was getting hard to pinpoint where the pain originated.

 

“No. You gave into the pain, and froze.” Shacklebolt instructed. “You have the luxury of neither action. You must always keep moving. Stopping means death, Potter. Remember it.”

 

Harry heard the auror's footsteps drawing closer as he spoke but couldn't bring himself to care. If the man wanted to curse him again, so be it. He would almost welcome the killing curse. The young wizard had to suppress a bitter snort at that. He supposed that was probably the point of his lessons here in Dumbledore's little unorthodox school for one; that he would become so broken that death would be eagerly embraced.

 

“Alright, Potter. That'll be all for today.” the Auror said as strong hands helped the boy uncurl his body enough for medical treatment. One diagnostic, two healing spells, and three potions later, Harry was able to stand with a hand up from his guard cum instructor.

 

“I know you're still just a kid, Harry, but everyone has a lot riding on your performance. You need to focus on the goal and ignore the pain.”

 

Harry shook off the man's hand and took a step back. He didn't glare or shout, but he did give the man a look so intense it caused the auror pause.

 

“Forgive me if I'm mistaken, Sir, but aren't pain relief potions a standard part of every auror's kit? If auror's aren't expected to take endless pain, why am I?” Harry managed to sound just as even and reasonable as his teacher.

 

A single snort of amusement escaped the tall auror before he marshaled himself. The pair looked at each other, neither willing to give an inch.

 

“You aren't training to be an Auror, kid.”

 

“I wouldn't want to.”

 

Shacklebolt grinned then, and reached out to ruffle the boy's hair. Harry batted the hand away. He was done playing friends with people who only saw his value as a weapon.

 

“You used to.” Shacklebolt answered with a sigh. “Just last year in fact.”

 

“That was then.” Now it was Harry's turn to smile. It was an ugly, twisted semblance of his usual sunny expression. “But, I'm just a kid, right? I didn't know any better.”

 

Auror Shacklebolt frowned. He was just here to teach the boy advanced dueling. He wasn't being paid enough to take lip from the surly little sprog.

 

“Practice your dodging. Read a few more chapters in the dueling manual I gave you.” Kingsley instructed before crossing to the floo. He took a handful of powder from a bowl on the mantel and paused. “Potter. Let it go. You've got a job to do. Carrying a chip on your shoulder will only make the burden harder to bear.”

 

When the flames turned green and the auror stepped into them Harry allowed himself to relax. As much as he could with his ribs aching like they were. They wouldn't let him have potions for pain. Apparently pain is a great teaching tool, and exceptional motivator. They assumed he would learn faster that way. He was, but not in the way they thought. He was learning to see beyond the surface now. Learning to discern motivations. Learning to hate.

 

Harry was beginning to think the wizarding world was largely populated by arseholes. Case in point, his dueling instructor. When he met Kingsley he had thought the man was fairly alright. Someone for him to look up to. A good role model for an orphan alone in the world. Now, he acted just like the other adults in his life. Don't let Harry shop for his own supplies, it might not be safe, but feel free to beat him senseless in the name of training. What's a few broken ribs anyway? It's not like he'd have to worry about arthritic old injuries flaring up on damp days later in life.

 

He was a disposable Savior. Now you see him, now you don't. _Shame he died so young. Say is that the time? We should hurry before we miss the sale at Flourish and Blotts._ How long would people really remember him anyway? He'd done four years of History at Hogwarts, and he couldn't name a single Dark Lord before Grindlewald, and certainly not those who defeated them. He could list dates for Goblin Rebellions going back centuries, but what good was that? It was becoming obvious, in a rather glaring way, that a Hogwarts education was fairly worthless. Just good enough so the next generation could keep the cogs in the machine of their small closed community turning, but not enough so that anyone would do anything revolutionary – like _think for themselves_. Oh no. Can't have that. It would be counterproductive to have actual competent, well-informed citizens running around.

 

Harry sighed and left the training room once it was obvious no one was coming to lecture him on his attitude. That had happened once or twice the first week. So far he'd met with three instructors. Shacklebolt was the only one he knew by name. The other two wore grey robes, kept their hoods up, and didn't really answer any questions. Harry wasn't even sure of their genders, because even their voices were rather nondescript.

 

Whereas Kingsley focused on dueling, they made him do things like hold crystals in his hands that heated up slowly, and he was meant to hold on to them as long as he could, no matter how hot they became. Or they would cast some of the weaker torture spells at him while he worked on mundane tasks like opening locks, or untying knots, and they wouldn't stop the spells until he finished his task. Sometimes they merely cast unknown spells on him that did nothing as far as he could tell, and then would confer on the results in whispers.

 

He was never allowed to cast spells against the wizards in the grey robes. He just had to grit his teeth and muddle through their little tests. It was fair to say he was coming to hate them. Shacklebolt he just found annoying, but he did treated Harry as a person, and at least he did get to shoot spells at the man. Sometimes. When he could manage to get one off in the midst of all the ducking and rolling he was doing.

 

The young wizard thought about his position, and seeming fate as he wandered through the cottage toward the kitchen. They were giving him appetite stimulating potions to help him get to a healthier weight, so he was almost always hungry. Dinner was hours away, but he was sure he would find a sandwich and some fruit to tide him over. After all, he was THE Harry Potter. He deserved only the best, most nutritional food available. _It's the least we can do for the poor boy, after all, since he's going to die for us. So lets be sure he gets plenty of milk and vitamin C._

 

Harry sneered and began to peel an orange. When Dumbledore first brought him to the cottage, Harry had felt defeated and rather sorry for himself, but as time passed and it was further demonstrated to him where his value lie, anger began to replace those weaker emotions; anger and resentment. It coursed through his veins like a raging river.

 

The next time he saw Dumbledore the old wizard was bound to get an earful. If he saw Dumbledore again. The man turned him over to his new _teachers_ , admonished him once or twice about cooperating properly, and then pulled a vanishing act. Harry hadn't seen him in weeks. Typical Headmaster. Never there when you needed him. He only ever turned up after everything was over. Never when he might actually make a difference.

 

Harry was beginning to think he never really needed the old bastard anyway. What did he ever do? Award some meaningless points? Give some vague useless advice? The man couldn't even protect the school. Any time anything went pear shaped at Hogwarts it was up to the students and sometimes the teachers to fix it. Harry was fairly certain he hated Dumbledore now. Even more than the grey-robed wizards he had to deal with three times a week, and that was saying something, because he practically loathed them.

 

Even though he was underage, and didn't have access to his vault key – or any of his other belongings for that matter, even the clothes he was wearing were old secondhand auror training robes Shacklebolt brought him – Harry was to the point where he would run away if he could only figure out how to escape the cottage. It was warded tighter than Gringott's it seemed. The floo wouldn't react to him at all. It had to be specially keyed to not accept him. No matter how much floo powder he threw in the flames they never turned green.

 

He couldn't get within six feet of any window or door that might lead to the outdoors. He couldn't even pull aside the curtains to see a glimpse of the outside world. For all he knew he might actually be miles underground. It might not be Gringott's, but it was his vault all the same. Or Dumbledore's rather. It was where he kept his most valuable weapon. A sixteen year old boy with a scar on his head. _How impressive._

 

It was funny how his internal voice was starting to sound rather Snape-like, these past weeks. Perhaps that was why Snape was always so irritable. Spending so many years working for Dumbledore probably wouldn't improve anyone's disposition, especially for a man as exacting as Severus Snape.

 

Harry shook his head, began to eat his orange, and tried to think of other things. Anything, besides Snape, though at times he couldn't help but wonder how the Head of Slytherin was faring now that he was free of the cursed potion. He was being ridiculous with the mental avoidance. It was only natural to think about your first time, and the one you shared it with, but he didn't like the way his body reacted whenever those memories started to surface.

 

Everything that passed between them had been enjoyable, and unbelievably hot, but he felt weird admitting that to himself, or using those memories as fodder for his clandestine wanking sessions; tempting though it was. He did his best to push those thoughts away during the day, but at night, in his dreams... that was a different story. Then he could give in to the memory of those skillful hands, that sinful mouth – and oh, but it was so, so sinful – and burning eyes. Harry shoved another bit of orange in his mouth with a growl when he realized where his thoughts were leading him once again.

 

It would be a lot easier if the man didn't hate him, and had been fully cognizant of his actions at the time. He wondered what Snape thought about the whole fiasco. Was he embarrassed? Angry? Relieved that Harry was no longer at school, so he didn't have to see him every day? Did he ever think of that night? Did he even remember it?

 

The young wizard finished the last bite of his orange and decided that it was enough to hold him until dinner. He rose, neatly deposited the refuse in the rubbish bin, then headed for the shower. He was sore and weary, and thinking about Snape, Dumbledore, and everything that led to his predicament would only give him a headache if he continued obsessing over it. It was better to focus on the anger he felt instead. That at least, felt clean and pure, and vital to maintaining his focus. 

 


End file.
